


A Bloody Definition of Heaven

by rei_c



Series: Cannibalism Aside (Samn) [32]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Biting, Blasphemy, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Dean Winchester is Obsessed with Sam Winchester, Foreshadowing, Knives, M/M, Murder, Sam Winchester is a Little Shit, Serial Killers, Sibling Incest, Torture, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:04:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7011823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are times when Sam gets -- a little blasphemous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bloody Definition of Heaven

Sam's been going back and forth between Dean's latest pick and their second set of kitchen utensils for a while now; the woman hanging from the makeshift St Peter's cross has been unconscious for an hour, at least. Dean's close enough to her to hear the wheezing breaths still coming out of her mouth; the only sweeter sounds in the universe are the death rattle of a person giving up and Sam, saying Dean's name. 

Dean tears his eyes from the ruin of the woman's body, looks at his brother, eats up the vision of Sam like he's never seen Sam before. Sometimes Dean wonders if they'll ever get used to each other, to having each other so completely in the way they do, if they'll eventually get over the honeymoon phase of addictive delight. 

He doesn't think so. They've been fucking for two years, killing together for twice as long, and Dean still wants Sam every minute of every day, doesn't matter how or where. He still wants to dig a person open and play with their insides, feeling Sam's hands brush against his in piles of blood and viscera. He still wants to fuck Sam any and every way Sam will let him, and shit, if he had a pussy, he'd be dripping wet for Sam all the time. 

Sam's debating the grater when Dean comes up behind him, presses against him, the long line of his warm body and his hard dick, under denim, even warmer, molding to Sam's back and ass. It feels like all the blood in Dean's body has fled south. It probably has.

 _God, baby boy_ , Dean says, and it's a murmur, a growl, a snarling tangle of words and emotions that gives voice to the ever-present want and constant need Dean feels. _So beautiful like this. Made for this, aren't you, sweetheart._

Sam twists, puts his back to the table and rubs up against Dean, wraps his arms lazily around Dean's neck, grinning fond and bright the way he only ever reacts to Dean. _We both are_ , Sam says. _We're the same, after all_.

Dean can't help smiling at that. He ducks his head, licks at a smear of drying blood on Sam's neck, inhales the smell of his two most favourite things mixed together: little brother and death. _Mine_ , Dean murmurs, and he rubs his nose up and down Sam's neck. _All mine_.

 _Wanna fuck_?

Dean straightens up, looks at Sam, at the mischievous gleam in his eyes. _Always_ , he says. _You know that. What're you --._ Before Dean can get the question out, Sam drops to his knees, undoes Dean's jeans, gets Dean's dick in his mouth, just like that. _Fuckin' -- holy shit._

It's automatic reaction to tangle his hands in Sam's hair; Dean does, gets a long, deep groan out of Sam at the action, another one when he tugs, just a little. 

_Jesus, Sammy_ \-- the only thing Dean can say, the only thing he can think, as Sam swallows him down, hollows his cheeks and closes his eyes like _he's_ the one getting a blowjob, turned on and loving it. 

Sam's making more noise than Dean, like he'd been starving for this and the feast he's getting is even better than he was dreaming about; Dean can't help a sudden, violent thrust into Sam's mouth. Sam chokes -- a little, more at the surprise of it than the way his throat's been filled -- and then hums, drawing a hiss from Dean. Dean looks a little lower, sees Sam jacking off, and pulls -- reluctantly -- out of Sam's mouth. Sam tracks Dean's cock, lips parted as if the second he gets anywhere close, he's gonna get that dick back in his mouth, and he licks his lips, sucks in a trail of saliva running down his chin. 

_Up_ , Dean says. Sam opens his eyes, looks dazed. _Up_ , Dean says again. 

Sam makes a whining sound but when Dean bends, sticks his hands under Sam's armpits and lifts, Sam goes with it. _What was I doin' wrong?_ Sam asks, and his voice is wrecked, his eyes wide, hands clenching and unclenching into fists like he's desperate for an answer and will do anything to make it better, to get back on his knees and have Dean fill his mouth. 

_Nothing_ , Dean says, kicking off his jeans and thinking -- not for the first time -- that maybe Sam's right to do this naked, because they always end up here anyway and it would save time, save the desperate seconds where Dean's fumbling with his clothes and Sam's standing there, looking so upset, like he's done something wrong. _Nothing, Sammy, swear, just -- fuck, you know I love coming down your throat_ , and Dean's growling, now, as he manhandles Sam, gets Sam turned around, places Sam's hands on the table, pushes him low, says, _Don't move them,_ before he plays with the base of the plug Sam's got up his ass. _Just love coming in your ass more._

 _Oh, fuck_ , Sam says, hanging his head, spreading his legs. _Yeah, Dean, come on_. 

Dean will never understand it, the constant need Sam has to have something up his ass, to keep Dean's come in him, to keep spread and wet and open -- but it has its benefits. He yanks out the plug, getting a wail from Sam at the rough feel of silicon curves and bumps pulling past his rim so fast, but Dean's inside just as quickly, bottoming out in one stroke, sliding into Sam like he's desperate for home and this is the only way to get there. 

_Don't move your hands_ , Dean says, pulls almost all the way out and then pounds back in. The table shakes; the utensils clang against one another. One of the scalpels falls off entirely, bounces on the floor. 

Sam's close enough to the utensils that every time Dean thrusts, they nearly hit him. Dean pauses once, just once, but Sam says, _I can smell it, fuck, Dean, can smell the metal and the blood and_ steel _, oh god_. 

Dean snorts, says, _Shouldn't be callin' on god when we're here sinning like this_.

Sam looks over his shoulder; Dean can see the flush riding high on Sam's cheek but he can see the wide grin, too. _Bet he's watching_ , Sam murmurs. _Bet he's jealous. Made us like this 'cause he wants to know what it's like. C'mon, Dean, fuck me like he's watching. Fuck me like he's disappointed in us._

 _God or not, don't care if he is_ , Dean snarls. _Let him be disappointed. He didn't do us any favours. Only good thing he's ever done is give me you and, Sammy, I have a feeling that was more the devil than god. No way god could ever come up with something like you. Fuckin' sin on legs, that's what you are -- made for this, for me, for killin' and fuckin'._

 _For you_ , Sam says, and Dean gets one hand in Sam's hair, presses Sam's face down, cheek right on the tray, smearing in the blood. _Fuck, Dean -- yeah, c'mon, fuck me, Dean_. 

There's a hint of a gasp behind them and Dean grins, can't help it, at the thought that their victim's watching them, the last thing she'll ever see before Dean slices her throat and cuts open her chest. She's been given such a gift and she'll never even know. 

_Wanna feel you come around me_ , Dean says. He lets go of Sam's head but Sam keeps his face down, licks at the blood on the tray. Dean reaches around, gets Sam's dick in his hand, starts jerking the way he knows his little brother likes. _Come on, baby boy, come around my dick_.

 _Dean -- I_ , Sam says, and his hips jerk, erratically, first to drive up into Dean's fist, then to thrust back to meet Dean's cock. _Dean, gonna -- please, I'm --_ , and then he comes with a strangled, stuttering groan. 

That's more than enough to send Dean over the edge as well; they ride out their orgasms together, catch their breath together, wait there a moment longer before Dean -- reluctantly -- pulls out. He drops to one knee, pulls Sam's cheeks apart, licks gently at Sam's rim; he has to use hand one to hold Sam steady when he feels Sam's knees shake. 

_Okay_? Dean asks. _Don't look torn, but._

 _Shut the fuck up_ , Sam says, panting for breath even as he cuts Dean off mid-sentence. _You're ruining the afterglow, jerk. Just -- I'm fine, just go finish her off, I'm done_ , and he gestures at the cross, at the woman there, somehow still alive. 

Sam's always been good at keeping them alive even while he's cutting them apart. 

_Bitch_ , Dean mutters. He bites Sam's ass -- hard -- before he stands; Sam yelps and then moans when Dean turns him around, holds him tight and traces his fingertips over the bitemark. _You sure you're done_? 

_With you?_ Sam asks, and Dean doesn't have to see Sam's face to know his brother's smiling. _Never. With her? Yeah, I've had enough. Go on, do your thing_.

Dean kisses Sam, soft and gentle, and when Sam's a near-boneless pile of post-sex endorphins, Dean leaves him sitting on the table and goes over to the woman, knife in hand, and draws the blade across her throat.


End file.
